


A Wayside Promise

by Duskynoir



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4029721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duskynoir/pseuds/Duskynoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first meeting between the Hunter and Eileen the Crow did not go well. Even the second cannot be described as good. But there are few allies in Bloodborne and those that are alive need to be honored.</p><p>Light Plain Doll/Male Hunter fluff. Mostly angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wayside Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Initially I was just writing this out of amusement. I wanted to expand on Eileen because she's one of my favourite NPCs in the game (behind the Chapel Samaritan). Then I remember what happened to her halfway through writing. So I just bawled and this took on a life of it's own. It would have been nice if more people survived but, you know. Maybe an AU can fix that.
> 
> Also, since it's me as well, Hunter & Plain Doll junk because they give me comfort in the game.

Embarrassing was an understatement. When he finally noticed that there was someone watching him, he was halfway through breaking barrels for fun, turning to run and smash into one with a roll as if he was some sort of lunatic. Her chuckle is what made him stop and he just about damn well near jumped off the balcony in shock when she came towards him.

“Having fun?”

“Ah… No,” was all he said to her like a child did to a parent and when she started laughing again, he bolted. After all, he was shamed enough. Here he was, stuck in a nightmare where beasts and death were his only companions, and the one time he thought it was safe for him to screw around a bit, a normal person had seen. Or what he assumed was normal underneath all the feathers and armor. Maybe she was a hideous beast in disguise, who knew. But he wasn’t going back there to face her.

When he returned to the Hunter’s Dream, he found himself still flustered and his heart racing too fast for him to concentrate. That’s when he went up to see Gehrman who was contemplating a pipe.

“Are there other hunters out there?” he asked the old man bluntly and Gehrman slowly looked to him with an interesting eye.

“Say again, Hunter?” Gehrman said with an almost air of amusement. “You are asking me if you are not alone?”

He paused. “…Yes.”

The old bastard chuckled. And that was all he did. He said no more, frustrating him, but he had no choice but either buy some blood vials or go back. He returned with a sigh, taking on what he could, and when he finally got the nerve to see if the strange woman was where he had been, he was shocked to find her gone.

Somewhere out there in Yharnam there was someone or something. He didn’t know if they were friend or foe or a beast in disguise. Nevertheless, if he saw them again, he would have to be prepared. The night wasn’t taking to well to him already and he pulled his hood higher on his head, his blood-soaked hands gripping his weapon tight.

If he was lucky, they would never meet again.

 

—

 

He watched the Plain Doll take his blood echoes, the light between them fading quietly and he flexed his arm, feeling the strength she gave him.

“Be well, Good Hunter,” the Doll said, her hands folding gently in front of her and he nodded, giving her a slight bow in thanks. She returned his gesture and he slowly went back up to his workshop, pulling off his clothes to try on the new garments he got off the messengers. Father Gascoigne’s clothes. They felt so strange.

He tipped the hat up, not liking that it lacked a covering for his mouth but the gloves felt nice. He eventually changed back, tugging on his regular Yharnam gear and he left the clothes neatly folded on top of his workbench, his sharpened axe coming out as he went to the gravestones.

“Farwell, Good Hunter,” the Doll said as he went by. “May you find success.”

He looked to her, his cheeks becoming a bit hot and he nodded in thanks before returning to the Hunt. He felt more capable of dealing with the beasts but still a bit weak for his liking. Although he was progressing heavily in the Cathedral Ward, there were times when he nearly was sent back to the Hunter’s dream due to his carelessness. He decided to backtrack because of it, easily slaying what used to be difficult. What strength the Doll had given him had really done wonders. Honestly, he wished he could thank her in a more meaningful way.

He found himself going back to check on Central Yharnam, moving up to the light full of incense where he knew Gilbert was staying.

He rapped on the window with the tip of his axe. “Gilbert,” he said. “How are you holding up?”

There was a long silence for a moment before a rasping cough came. “Not well,” the muffled voice of the outsider said. “I gave my lantern some more incense but… I’m afraid it won’t last. Not long enough.”

He frowned deeply at his words but changed the subject. “Has any other hunters come this way?”

Again, there was a pause. “No… I don’t think so. Seems like Central Yharnam is rather empty now.” A round of coughs came that made him frown and subconsciously move the scarf covering his mouth higher. “But, I’m not the best judge of that. Seeing as I only can see what goes past my window. Which, well, isn’t much.”

He sighed. “Gilbert. There’s a Cathedral…”

A series of coughs came. “I can’t move from here. I’ve told you. But, I thank you for your kindness.”

He frowned but left, continuing on. He went back to where he had fought the Cleric Beast, killing everything in his path with expert parries, his coattails soon stained with blood and he came back to where the rude old woman’s door was.

He hesitated deeply before he knocked.

“What you want?” the old woman’s voice came and he cringed. “You find a place for me? Or are you wasting my bloody time again?”

“The Cathedral Ward,” he said. “There’s… There’s a Chapel. It’s safe.”

“What?” the old woman snapped. “You pulling my leg?”

“No,” he said, irritated. He could hear her grumbling.

“If I die because of you, you will be sorry! I can guarantee it!” she spat and he rolled his eyes, looking back down the bridge. “But alright. I’ll go. Now scram! Go muck up some beasts! That’s your bloody job now, ya’here?”

He said nothing in return, gladly moving away from her door and as he went to where there was a cluster of barrels, wishing to break them, the door opened and he turned to see her come out. She grabbed her lantern, her wicked old face looking suspicious of everything, before she returned inside her home. He sighed. Whatever she did it wasn’t up to him.

But another thought came to him. He was in the area… he went to see if the other woman was still there.

He found she was not and he sighed, his eyes moving up to the darkening sky. He supposed he should press on. Clean out Central Yharnam again before he returned. That should give him enough blood vials to feel more confident to explore the grounds of the Healing Church.

Though, before he left he found himself going to the window of the little girl he had previously talked to. The one who had given him a music box that he had used to defeat her father. He didn’t know if he could bring himself to tell her about that. After all, what child should hear such a terrible thing? But, at least he could direct her to the Cathedral Ward. The Samaritan there would probably be very pleased to have someone else to care for.

He rapped on the window with the tip of his axe, waiting until the curtains slightly moved.

“Oh… Hunter. You’ve come back. Did you find my mummy or daddy?”

He cringed.

 

—

 

He returned to his refuge, exhausted as he did. The vicar he had fought had been relentless, her screams still making his bones hurt and the aftermath of having such an intense vision from the twisted skull giving him a migraine which made him flinch at any bright lights.

He had to cover his eyes when he gave the Doll his blood echoes, grimacing at the feeling and she paused, holding his hand after.

“Dear Hunter, are you alright?” she had asked. He went red.

“Yes,” he lied, pulling away and he went to his workshop, ingesting several blood vials to bring his aches and worries down. He worked on the mighty hammer he had begun to wield, his strength good enough to take down any enemy he came across but he needed to still be faster. His parries were still missing at times which were crucial in tight spots.

When he was finished he descended the steps, looking to the Doll who gave him a worried face which made him flush.

“Be well, good Hunter,” she said and he looked away, his ear even burning. He fled back to Yharnam, rubbing his face when he touched down and he began training a bit with his weapons. He decided to backtrack once again but this time he went from the Cathedral Ward towards the sewers.

He did not expect to be attacked again in the Tomb of Oedon. It actually pissed him off and he pulled out the Kirkhammer at full strength, taking aim.

“Watch out!” a voice said which didn’t come from his enemy and it took him off guard which could have been fatal. If the voice hadn’t saved him. Feathers flew in the air and at first he thought it was one of those damned carrion crows until he realized it was a person. He would have been embarrassed but considering she was knocked back and the enemy was now coming at him, he focused more on not dying and ridding the Tomb of yet another beastly Hunter.

It was odd. Really. He was there to fight beasts, not other men. Still, his life was on the line and the mysterious feather-clad woman joined him in assaulting the hunter back. He gave the final blow and the strange hunter before him went down, blood spattering on the ground and all over his weapon making him sigh as steam rose from the hot spray. The feathered hunter - or beast - took a step back and she sheathed her weapon, head raising to him.

“So. You’re no longer fighting barrels,” a woman’s voice came and he went absolutely red. “Well, I suppose I should be thankful for that. Though, I could have killed him on my own.”

“Who?” he said automatically and she scoffed a bit. Slowly she pointed.

“Henryk.”

He looked down at the dead hunter.

“How about a better introduction,” she said, moving towards him and he held his ground but didn’t sheathe his weapon. “I’m Eileen the crow. And you look like you’re in a bit over your head.”

He furrowed his brows. She chuckled but continued on.

“But, isn’t that how it goes with every hunt? Someone new is pulled in. Someone who had no choice, I’m supposing.” She tilted her head at him. “You see the Doll yet?”

The mention of the Doll made him go rigid.

“Guess that means you have.”

“How… do you know-?”

“About the Doll?” she said, crossing her arms and she tapped a finger on her forearm in amusement. “I used to dream as well. But now. Now I hunt.”

“You’re a hunter then?”

“I am. But not of beasts,” she said and she looked to him. If he could see her face he could guess she was probably smiling which unnerved him. “I take down Hunters. Like Henryk here. Poor bastard turned. I assume Gascoigne did as well, and, judging by your gloves, you put him out of his misery.”

He looked down at his arms and shifted in discomfort.

“Here’s some advice,” Eileen said. “Leaving the hunting of other Hunters to me. You just keep working on all your beasties. Understand?”

He went a bit red. “Whatever,” he muttered and he went to leave. He wanted to gain more strength back in Central Yharnam, not get a lecture from some insane woman. “Have fun with your goal.”

She chuckled as he left, his heavy boots taking the stairs away two at a time and when he got down far enough he looked back, still unnerved. He had to find a lantern and he rushed into the sewers, ignored the damned sick beasts and crows that chased him down.

He was almost back up when the squeal of a pig alerted him and he came face-to-face with the stupid boar he had been trying to avoid all this time. Now that he was before it he had no choice and he extended his hammer. The stupid thing made a hideous noise.

But it was no match for him now that he had the strength from the Doll and a weapon that could make a Great One tremble. He demolished the boar, the grand thing exploding into a mist which made him step back and in the now empty chamber he spotted something. It was laying just up out of the filthy water, frayed bits of string surrounding it. A bloody bow. As if from a child.

He stared at it and he shook, reaching to pick it up. No… this. This could be from before. This couldn’t be what he thought. He rushed to the ladder, ignoring the beasts crawling to him and he practically launched up it, panting heavily when he hit the top. He dodged out of the way of anything coming near him, determined to make it to the window of Gascoigne’s little girl and he was relieved to see the lantern still on.

He knocked. And there was silence. He knocked again, using the sword from his weapon, hitting the glass until he became desperate. No one was responding and he rushed to Gilbert’s lantern.

“Gilbert,” he rapped hard on the window. “Gilbert, are you there?”

There was an odd silence before something moved.

“Hunter? Oh, you’re still alive.”

“Gilbert, has anyone come by?” he asked. “Has a little girl come near here? Have you heard of anyone being rescued?”

There was a cough. “No. I haven’t heard from anyone since you last came. I haven’t seen anyone either.”

He clutched the ribbon tight.

“Why?”

“No reason,” he finally said and he moved from the window, his heart falling as he did. There was still hope. He had told the little girl of the Chapel. When he was done in his dream, maybe she would be there. If she wasn’t, well. He didn’t want to think about it. He moved to the lantern, kneeling before it and his messengers rose, empty eyes all turning to him. He snapped his fingers. They pulled him down.

In his refuge he went to the Doll, hiding the bloody ribbon in his other hand before he did and the ever sweet Doll turned to him.

“Good Hunter,” she said, her hands coming out and he paused.

“Doll,” he asked. “Have you ever met a woman named Eileen?”

The Doll paused, her pale eyes slowly blinking.

“Eileen the crow?” he pressed. The Doll seemed confused. He let out a weary sigh, shoving his hand into hers and she blinked, looking down before her fingers clasped over his.

“I apologize, good Hunter,” she said. “I am unsure of what you are asking me.”

“Forget it,” he said. “It isn’t important.”

Her fingers tightened on him to the point he looked at her with a frown. She looked worried. Worried for him. He went absolutely red and he had to look away.

“I-I have a lot of Blood Echoes,” he said. “I would like some endurance.”

She continued to say nothing but her grip on him was gentle yet tight.

“As you wish, dear Hunter,” she finally said. When they parted she moved to stand, her hands coming together before her. “Good Hunter?”

His eyes met hers.

“I wish you well,” she said in a soft voice. “And that you do not feel pain as you progress.”

He fled back to Central Yharnam. This night was messing him up.

 

—

 

It was hers. The ribbon was the little girl’s. And as he went forward his mind began to go. In Old Yharnam he had nearly been shot to pieces by a madman, some lunatic who yelled at him that the beasts were harmless and nothing more. Every beast wanted to kill him so he assumed he would be excused in not believing someone who stood on a tower and made bullets rain from the sky whenever he moved. He also found the woods around Yharnam and another reminder on why he couldn’t trust anything.

But he progressed. He went on. Despite how heavy everything weighed on him and how many times he was sent plummeting back to the Hunter’s dream where the Doll stood, he damn well went forward. Though he wasn’t sure if all of this was worth how much he was losing his mind.

After he killed the ugly spider in the lake and brought down a blood moon, he approached the Doll. She had been drifting off more as his returns were no longer so frequent and he gently touched her shoulder making her stir.

“Good Hunter,” she said in her sweet voice that he craved to hear. “Forgive me. I seem to have drifted off.”

“Doll,” he asked in a quiet voice despite there being nothing close to them to hear. “I need to ask you something.”

She looked to him, still sitting on the stones and he sighed.

“When this is over… will you forget me?”

She tilted her head in confusion. “Forget you?”

“Yes,” he said. “Like you’ve forgotten Eileen.”

She tilted her head again, not understanding and he sighed, leaning up to rub his weary eyes and head.

“Forgive me, dear Hunter. I do not understand.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine.” He brought his hand out. “I have a rather large amount of Blood Echoes.”

She took his hand. “I will fill you with strength.”

He let her do as she pleased. Once again, he returned to the hunt feeling worse than before, his once sharp eyes dulled as he entered from the Cathedral Ward, stepping outside to see the horrific sights of what really surrounded Yharnam. Whatever the beasts were that clung to the buildings made him twitch a bit and he finally understood how he died the one time.

He headed up instead, moving to where he had once fought Vicar Amelia, the statues around him now twisted and sick and he found something he wasn’t expecting. On the cathedral stairs lay Eileen.

“Eileen,” he said, slowly moving towards her, almost afraid she was a beast but when she lifted her head, her arm sliding down a bit to reveal why she was there he went still.

“You again?” her voice came out in a rasp. “You’re not lost. I can hardly believe it.”

He went to her side trying hard not to gape at her wound. “What happened?”

She chuckled. “I’ve messed up. Me, the great hunter of Hunters and turning beasts. I… messed up.”

He frowned at her, moving to lower his scarf but she stopped him.

“Don’t,” she said. “Best you keep your mouth covered from now on. The blood moon coming down has set everything off. And if you turn into a beast, well.” She cringed. “I’m in no condition to stop you after.”

He kept his scarf on. “A beast attacked you?”

She let out a small laugh. “If you want to call it that.” She coughed. “Up there… in the Grand Cathedral. He’s there.”

“Who?”

“The bastard that did this to me, who else?” she said, almost in an irritated tone before it faded and she slumped back. “Heavens,” she muttered. “I won’t be dreaming anymore after this.”

He stared at her, helpless and finally he decided he knew what he had to do. He drew out his weapon, the blade shining under the tainted moon.

“Don’t be a fool,” Eileen said. “Look what he did to me! You will not be as lucky!”

He looked at her. “I killed a false Great One,” he said and her head moved in shock. “Whatever took you down, I can handle.”

“You idiot!” she spat before she was overcome by her wound. He left her, making his way to the Grand Cathedral and he held his weapon tight, a strange determination coming over him yet he still shook a bit in fear.

Where Vicar Amelia had once knelt there was now a hunter clad in black, the stranger turning when he stepped into the chamber. Their eyes met and he found himself holding his hammer tight but it wouldn’t matter. He was torn to shreds before he could even practically breathe. Still, he was determined. This man was not a beast. It was a regular person, one who had attacked someone who didn’t deserve it. Eileen was the last person who should go down, considering everyone else in Yharnam. So he kept coming back. He didn’t care how many times it took. Eileen, on the other hand, kept telling him not to.

“Stop wasting your time!” she would say every time he went past her to face the stranger that tore her down. “You cannot win!”

He ignored her every time.

Besides, he was tired. Sooner or later he was going to have to deal with the real horrors of Yharnam, whether he wanted to or not. The sound of the baby crying, wherever that was going to take him. The Vilebloods Alfred had mentioned to him long ago. The horrible twisted monsters clinging to the side of the buildings, the Chalice dungeons where he had lost so many blood echoes. He was getting tired of seeing things that twisted his mind. So fighting a disturbed individual for Eileen seemed better.

And somehow, he got the upper hand.

He couldn’t count how many times he died. He didn’t know. He stopped after fifteen. But he finally got the upper hand, his parries hitting right and with one final attack, the hunter that had taken down Eileen the crow had its blood spattered against the altar of the Church. He almost couldn’t believe it when it was over, his entire body shaking and he laughed like a maniac for a few seconds. He took the damned weapon from the body, hating it and loving it at the same time and he left the way he came, having to use the wall to support him as he did.

Eileen was still where she lay, her head moving slightly when he came and she shook her head when he collapsed near her.

“He’s dead,” he said, still unable to comprehend it. “He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.”

Eileen continued to shake her head. “By the stars.”

“Look,” he brought out the weapon and she flinched. “This. This was it. This was the bloody thing.”

“Put it away,” she said. “I don’t want to see it.” He did as she asked but he continued to shake. When she touched him he flinched and she sighed. “Don’t be getting so… jumpy. It was just a hunter,” she said and he gave her a look.

“Just a hunter? That man?”

She sighed. “Alright, he was worse than the average. But don’t get cocky. You still have a long journey ahead.”

Slowly he came down from his high and he finally nodded. “Right.”

She let out a soft chuckle. “That’s a good lad,” she said before she cringed and groaned, gripping her side making him turn. “And… that’s enough for me. I’m getting too old.”

“Eileen?”

“Here,” she said, rummaging around and she pulled out a rune and a badge. “Take them.” When he didn’t move automatically she sighed in irritation. “Take them, you idiot! Before I expire!”

He cautiously did.

“You’re one of us,” she said. “And I can finally rest.”

“Eileen?”

She waved her hand slightly. “Quiet, lad. Let me go. I’m weary and the night is too long.”

“Eileen, wait-!”

She shushed him, sinking down on the stairs and slowly her head listed to the side, her arms beginning to slacken. He watched her, holding the badge and rune tight until he realized she was gone. He was left alone with barely anything to show and his eyes went up to the blood red moon.

By the end, was he going to be the only one who survived?

 

—

 

The journey back to a lamp was long. The old woman was dead. Arianna was gone. He had to kill Gilbert not long before when he burst out to attack him as a full on beast. Previous to that, Iosefka was killed by his hand as was any of the people he had sent to her in their twisted new forms.

He came into his refuge with a heavy body, his eyes moving to the Doll which looked the same as she always did. As he went to her she tilted her head.

“Welcome back, dear Hunter,” she began but he didn’t want to hear it. He dropped the badge on the ground, the rune falling too and he grabbed the Doll to embrace her making her stop. He felt nothing, not a heartbeat or breath, but he didn’t care. A physical form against him was enough.

“Doll,” he mumbled against her. “When will this night end?”

The Doll said nothing for a moment. “I do not know, Hunter.”

“Will you remember me once it does?”

She didn’t reply. He continued to hold her, feeling his strength build once again and when he finally came to his senses he let her go. She looked at him with her strange pale eyes, a look of worry still within her face. He brushed her hair back in response.

“Eileen is gone,” he said. “Djura’s probably fallen too. And when this night ends, I will as well.”

She slowly blinked.

“Does that mean nothing to you?”

She tilted her head. “Dear Hunter,” she said in a soft voice. “I am a Doll. Humans created me. I only know what I have been told.”

He sighed. “So, you don’t feel any emotion? When I die, you’ll move on?”

“No,” she said quietly. “I do not move on. I only stay here and wait.”

“Wait for what?” he asked.

“For whoever comes to the dream,” she said. He sighed again.

“This is silly,” he muttered, letting her go and he stepped back. “To think my only sanity in this Hunt is from an emotionless doll.”

“I am not without emotion,” she said making him pause. “I love you.”

He went rigid.

“I love humans. For you have created me.” Her head tilted slightly but it was not in confusion or pity. “Do you love me?”

He stared at her, a blush overtaking him and he found himself feeling as he did when he first started. Except so much had happened that he was no longer a naive man who had suspicions of the Doll and a sense of intrigue of Yharnam. He was different now, akin to a madman, and he had changed so drastically it even took him off guard. But her eyes drew him back, her look of genuine worry and care for him making him flush.

“I do,” he finally said, though his tone was low and lacking some confidence. The Doll closed her eyes.

“When you leave, I pray for your success. When you come back victorious, I am at peace. When the night ends, I do not know what I will feel. For I have done it many times before with others, though the memory is cloudy,” she said, opening her eyes after. He frowned.

“So you do remember there were others?”

She nodded.

“But not who they were?”

She shook her head.

“I am a Doll. To help you in this dream. I love you. And I have an emotion of peace when you return. When you leave me forever, I may not remember,” she reached up and placed one of her oddly jointed hands on her breast. “But there will be a feeling inside me and a clouded memory.” Her hand went back down. “That is all I know.”

He frowned a bit.

“So… you will remember?” he asked. “For a moment?”

She slowly nodded. “I will weep before the memory fades. I am sure.”

It wasn’t a satisfying answer for him. Nothing really was in the world. After all, answers in Yharnam seemed to bring up more question and every riddle Gehrman muttered in his sleep didn’t help. The Doll did not remember, the messengers only worshipped and he found himself looking up to the blood moon hanging over the sky in the distance, a slight breeze in the air. He was growing weary.

The Doll spoke first. “Dear Hunter, your mind is heavy.” He snapped back to looking at her. She brought her hands forward. “I can take your burdens.”

He let out a soft sigh. The Blood Echoes weren’t what was burdening him but she didn’t need to know. He gave her his hand, watching her kneel and she held it with a gentle but firm grip, drawing from him what she required to give him skill back and when it was done, she didn’t move. She continued to hold his hand, her oddly jointed fingers feeling strangely cold and when he was about to speak she moved forward.

Gently, she kissed his hand making him go as stiff as a board.

“Good Hunter,” she said in a soft voice. “I wish I will remember you beyond this dream. And that you will be at peace for the loss of your hunting kin.”

He went red.

“May you be victorious and strong-handed,” she said as she finally let go and she slowly drew back up as he took his hand back. He held it for a second, his fingers running over where her porcelain lips had been and he flushed like a newborn babe. He normally would have fled. He would have run back to the Hunt and taken on the beasts than face his embarrassment but the death of Eileen, the looming nightmare, and his own ragged sanity made him pause.

He looked to the doll, his eyes on her pale ones and he found himself speaking.

“I will remember you after all of this,” he told her. “When the night finally ends. I promise.”

She did nothing but he could have sworn her eyes almost seemed to lighten a bit. He reached and took her hand, mimicking as she had done to him and she didn’t pull back until he released her hand.

“Be victorious, dear Hunter,” she told him and he stepped back, leaving back to the nightmare that was now Yharnam with a different insight in mind.

Everything was losing their sanity, so why not him as well? But, when it was over, he did plan to keep his promise. He wouldn’t forget the doll. He wouldn’t forget Eileen. And as he went forward into an area he had never seen, he swore he would not forget his words as well. No matter how deep the madness took him or how much the Great Ones played with his mind, he would not forget what he may lose.

He brought out his Kirkhammer at the sight of a mob, his strength absolute against them. They were utterly no match for his aim and as he cut down the beasts, nearly becoming one himself in his lust for destruction as he found himself thinking of what he had lost. Father Gascoigne’s little girl. The mad old woman. Arianna, Iosefka, Gilbert, Eileen, even the deranged beggar that tried to convince him he wasn’t a beast. So many lives were ruined for Yharnam. So many were never going to be remembered unless he lived.

He thought of the Doll, closing his eyes for a second before he unleashed his hammer down upon one of the mob members, destroying the beast in a single, violent swing. No, there would be one. He would remember, even if everyone else did not. And as he raised his hammer back up, the beasts began to come forth again, a sinister bell ringing in the distance.

"Try it," he goaded them. "Just try and take me down."

One of the beasts roared and he he smiled as he began to swing. No, he was going to live and remember them. Eileen, Gilbert, his Doll, and everyone else that he had risked to save. Someone had to and it was going to be him. And when it was over, he was going to face the sun. He was going to enjoy the warmth on his face as a new man, one who had faced a nightmare and lived and his swing connected with the beasts once more, hammering through flesh and bone. Let his mind go. But his promise would be kept.

\--


End file.
